The Last Night at Redcliffe
by Boxapples
Summary: After Riordan reveals the need for Grey Wardens, Surana contemplates the possibility of self-sacrifice. She goes to Zevran, but the assassin won't simply let it be. In the aftermath, Zevran remembers their journey, and her impact on his life.
1. The last night at Redcliffe

**A/N: **Random one-shot, written after my mage romanced Zevran. If I get round to working on the archdemon battle, it might just have another chapter, but until then... this is what I imagine the scenario might be, if a fem! Surana chose to end it with Zevran because she has decided to die. It's my first try at writing romance, admittedly, and I hope it sounds realistic! I apologize for any possible diversion of Zevran's personality.

**Disclaimer:** Bioware owns Zevran and Dragon Age: Origins. But trust me, I seriously wish Zevran was mine.

_This is the last night you'll spend alone,  
Look me in the eyes so I know you know,  
I'm everywhere you want me to be.  
The last night you'll spend alone,  
I'll wrap you in my arms and I won't let go,  
I'm everything you need me to be._

------The Last Night, Skillet

**The Last Night at Redcliffe**

There came a knock on the door. Puzzled, Zevran – who had been polishing his two knives – lowered the blades and called, "enter." The door creaked open and the assassin turned, completely unsurprised to see their fearless leader, as Wynne had dubbed her, standing in the doorway. He'd guessed that she would come straight here after Riordan's briefing. The elven mage was still clad in her battle regalia as she eyed him hesitantly.

"Tsk, tsk. You look so very tired, dear," Zevran commented, reaching past her and shutting the door. Then he wrapped his arms around the mage's waist playfully, before catching the glint of seriousness in her eyes. "What bothers you?" he asked, fingering the earring he'd given her after she killed Taliesen – she'd worn it on her right ear upon accepting his gift. Surana seemed particularly uneasy, and her face was tear-streaked. He could only guess that the veteran Grey Warden had something to do with it.

"Zevran..." she began quietly. He liked it when she called his name. It conveyed warmth, love, care – everything she felt about him – and only she could give his name such a fuzzy quality. "I – you – _we_... we need to end this."

The assassin's smile didn't falter at her words. Before he could come up with a witty answer to her idea of a joke, she rushed on, "I'm not joking, Zevran. I -"

"Do you not love me?" Zevran questioned, meeting her gaze. His smile was gone, and his relaxed demeanor tense, as if preparing for a battle. Surana averted her lurid stare.

"I love you, Zevran," she whispered unhesitatingly, "you're everything I'd ever dreamed of an elven man -"

"Yet you wish to end this?" Even though he hadn't moved an inch, his tone was accusatory, and the hurt showed slightly on his otherwise placid face. "If I wished to kill you, I would have done so on our very first night together. I had so many opportunities: the many times you were wounded; when you trusted me to hold the abominations at bay while you prepared your spells; when we were but two elves, a dwarf and a human against the unknowns of the Deep Trenches. I could have, but I did not. Does all this not prove my loyalty, still?"

"This isn't about your loyalty," she interrupted angrily, "I know you're loyal. I love you and I believe in -"

"Or is it because, after tomorrow's battle comes to its conclusion, you will have no more use of an assassin?" Zevran cut in bitterly, "am I to be tossed aside after you – such a gorgeous woman, I must say – stole my heart?" He didn't know why he was so furious, but this mage had melted all his walls and touched his heart much more deeply than even Rinna had. She had helped him to see that he loved her, and that such a warm, tight emotion was nothing to fear. She felt the same way, she'd said. The idea of being betrayed was agonizing, to say the least. "Was it all a lie, Grey Warden?" He noted – with cruel satisfaction - that she flinched at his formal addressing of her. They'd been calling each other by name for far too long now, if this was her intention. "If so, it was very well-fabricated. I could not have seen through it," he spat sarcastically.

"Zevran..." tears sparkled in her fiery brown eyes; eyes that had captivated him since the day he'd lain with her in her tent. They had dark circles under them now, but it didn't lessen the beauty of her eyes. "Please, listen to me."

Zevran gritted his teeth. It took all that he had to bite back the hateful words that were hanging on the tip of his tongue. The bitterness at her wanting to end this threatened to overthrow any measure of restraint he might have had. "I'm listening," he forced out the words, inclining his head.

"Riordan, he told me why Grey Wardens are needed," she said quietly, not moving from the door. Zevran moved to sit on the bed, still staring at her. She flinched from his unwavering gaze, and it struck him that he might have been too harsh. Despite being an absolute terror on the battlefield, Surana's heart was amazingly frail. For all the devastating spells that she could dish out to an opponent with barely a second's worth of pause in between, she still blushed at almost any smart comment Zevran made. She still smiled – sincerely – when he recited the poem one of his victims had said to him. She'd experienced many hurts in her lifetime, as most elves had. That bitterness had escalated into her betraying Jowan to prove her worth to the Circle of Magi – and also, as Surana later revealed, prevented her from loving Alistair. He was human, for all his quirks and lovable traits. She was elven, and she would never love a human. Zevran knew she saw him as a close friend, however. As long as her heart remained with him, he wouldn't question their friendship.

"We are needed because... when we slay the archdemon, its soul travels through the shared taint to the Grey Warden's soul. And then... it kills the warden. Both die." The words came in a rush, as if she was afraid of losing Zevran's undivided attention. The assassin, however, was studying the curves of her body – curves that he was intimately familiar with. "Zevran, listen!" she exclaimed in exasperation.

"I _am_ listening, my heart," he replied, fixing his icy gaze on her. She could tell he was still fuming, and she sighed.

"One of us – Alistair, Riordan, or I – will have to die tomorrow. And Alistair is king. He can't die."

"And what about Riordan? Couldn't he take the final blow?"

"We don't know for sure if he will be alive to do so," Surana whispered, shrinking against the door. "I don't want to die, but..." she shuddered. Zevran was starting to see the big picture. He rose and strode towards her as she continued with less anxiety than she had before, "Morrigan offered me a way out, a way for all of us to live, by means of a dark ritual. She would bear a child tainted with an old god's soul as the price. But -"

"- you didn't accept it. Why?" Zevran asked quietly.

"I'm a mage. I know better than anyone what such a... a demon, such an abomination, can do. The child would be a mage – Morrigan is one – and it would also have the soul of an old god. Zevran, the archdemon is already a powerful foe on its own. I think that child... could annihilate Thedas if it so wished it. I don't want to be indirectly responsible for that," she whispered. "And also... since I'm a mage, I can own nothing; inherit nothing. There's nothing left for me even if I survive."

"You would be a revered hero," Zevran pointed out, "and you would be with me still."

"I would be," she sighed, "I wish I can be with you. But the hero business... the people might respect and fear me for accomplishing such a feat, but it won't last. Plus, I don't think the Grey Wardens would accept my being leader of their order," she smiled a lopsided smile. Such was the fate of most elves. Zevran sometimes wondered what kept her going, what kept her motivated to end the Blight even though her – _their -_ kind was treated so terribly.

"And as for our... relationship?" he asked, gently guiding her back to the original topic. She had digressed far too much, but she needed it.

Surana studied him intensely, as if drinking in every detail of his features and committing them to memory. "Chances are I will not live to see dawn in tomorrow's battle. I thought, since I will probably die... I should free you to find another woman. I should free your heart, to love another." She reached up and removed the earring, opening Zevran's hand and dropping it – with trembling fingers – into his palm. Then she opened the door, biting her lower lip to stop herself from sobbing. "Goodbye, Zevran."

"Wait." Zevran grabbed her wrist. Being the powerful arcane warrior that she was, Surana could easily wrench her arm free from so loose a grip, but she didn't. Zevran pulled her back into the room, shutting the door and backing her up against the wall. With one hand, he tucked her brown tresses behind her ear and clipped the earring on its tip. Then he tilted her head and pressed his lips to hers. She seemed to melt into his arms then, and as he led her to the bed, he whispered, "I don't care if you're going to die tomorrow. Even if we will only be together for one last night... so be it. I have never regretted loving you, since the day you showed me the meaning of love. I was all yours from that day, and I still am."

He knew she was speechless. He didn't need to see her face to know it. Instead, he simply pushed her – or perhaps she fell – onto the bed and expressed everything words did not, and never could.

xXx

As they lay together, tucked under the linen sheets, Zevran's muscular arm draped over her shoulder and touched her hand. Surana opened her eyes. "Zevran?"

"Hmm?" Good. He hadn't slept yet, not after their fun.

"Promise me something?"

"For you, anything," he murmured sleepily.

"Promise me you'll live a life... for us both."

His arms tensed ever so slightly, and she felt a stab of guilt for bringing the issue up. Zevran had no qualms about dying – he'd made that clear in Orzammar when he laughed at Harrowmont's fear of assassination – but the death of his love was, perhaps, a different matter all together.

"I will." His words rang with conviction.

She snuggled against his chest and fell asleep. _Oh, Maker, please. Before tomorrow, please, let us have one last night of peace. One last night... together._


	2. In death, sacrifice

**A/N:** It turns out that this isn't a one-shot anymore, I guess. I just felt like I _had_ to write about the archdemon fight, and its subsequent aftermath. Maybe I'll work on the other quests. Maybe not. We'll see, hmm?

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Dragon Age: Origins; Bioware does. 'Tis a pity.

**#02: In death, sacrifice.**

_In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice._

----Grey Warden motto

The next morning, when Zevran awoke, Surana was gone. Rays of sunlight streamed into the room, brushing against his face, and for once the assassin thought they were _warm._ It felt almost gentle, as if even the weather understood how impossibly tight his chest felt. Pursing his lips together, Zevran quickly dressed, guessing he was probably late for the march. It was true. The new king of Ferelden was halfway through his speech when the assassin reached their little band of misfits.

Wynne glared at him, to which he merely flashed a flirtatious smile; Sten and Dog – he sometimes wondered why Surana wouldn't give the mabari warhound a decent name – stood silently, side by side, uninspired by Alistair's motivational speech. Shale had done some bird-squishing: Zevran had seen the telltale signs of squashed pigeons and feathers on his way to the courtyard. Leliana was tense and on her toes; Oghren was drunk as ever, Zevran noted with a smile. At least they could always point him in the right direction before he charged, never mind that he also set off any traps in his way before Leliana could get to them. No one mentioned Morrigan. Zevran glanced to the platform, where Surana stood with shadowed eyes. Neither she nor Alistair moved as the army raced towards Denerim. They rejoined the party, and she tilted her head in the direction of Ferelden's capital.

Without so much as acknowledging Zevran's faint nod, Surana merely said, "this is it, my friends. Let's move."

The assassin's chest hurt _so_ much.

xXx

With the gates secured, Riordan revealed his plan to make the archdemon land on the top of Fort Drakon. Surana would lead a small party of four into the midst of the darkspawn horde and slay the generals; just four weeks ago, Zevran would've thought this a suicide mission, but he didn't now. Every one of them now had prior experience with Emissary darkspawn and ogres: besides, a small party would go better unnoticed.

She named her team. Zevran wasn't surprised to find that he had been included and Alistair excluded. He glanced at the two other lives she'd chosen. Wynne and Shale. He had no comments, as always, not even when each of their companions shared their final parting words with their fearless leader. When it came to his turn, he stared long and hard at her, and teased, "by your side, I would willingly storm the gates of the Dark City itself. Do not doubt me!"

She laughed. "The Blight's bad enough; we can leave the Dark City for another time."

He smirked along with her, then sobered and sighed, "but if you don't come back alive..."

"You know there's a pretty high chance of that," she interrupted with a small smile. Zevran thought it looked rather... despondent. "And last night, you promised me something, Zevran, if you weren't half-asleep."

"That I did. Don't you worry, I keep my promises," he said, fingering the earring on her ear. She blushed, reaching up to hold his hand. They stood there for a moment, both wanting to do more than merely this, but neither taking the first step. Eventually she was the one who released his hand, tore her gaze away and walked towards Denerim's district to the cheers of the army.

His chest seemed to tighten even more, though he though it wasn't possible for his heart to hurt more than this. All his life, he'd been taught to sell the illusion of love, and now someone had disillusioned him. Love was _real_, not an illusion. If it was an illusion, it wasn't love. So why did the price have to be so impossibly high?

xXx

Surana, Shale, Zevran and Wynne approached the gates of Fort Drakon in silence. Corpses were strewn all over the floor; a river of blood ran through the entire city. Small fires cackled cruelly, drowning out the weak cries of dying soldiers desperately seeking aid. Zevran braced himself for another drawn-out fight. He was about to charge alongside Shale when Surana abruptly came to a halt, dropping to her knees in shock.

Both golem and assassin froze even as their enemies noticed them, turning as she lifted a bloody hand with trembling fingers. The body it belonged to was no doubt dead, and was so bloody Zevran couldn't match the mutilated face to an identity. But Surana could. The arcane warrior stared at them bleakly – her face was now completely devoid of colour – and said, "Riordan."

Zevran blanched as the darkspawn charged towards them.

xXx

By the time they reached Sandal, Zevran was literally drenched in darkspawn blood. Shale was no different, and Wynne was hardly better off. Her robes practically dripped blood. Surana, half-existing in the Fade – as was an arcane warrior's skill – was slightly better off than the assassin and golem due to her partially physical state. Zevran was starting to feel the exhaustion creep in. They'd probably been fighting for hours – maybe even a day - and were just one staircase away from the top of Fort Drakon – and the archdemon.

As Surana bartered with Sandal for what little supplies the dwarven enchanter had, Zevran's heart thudded rapidly in his chest. He had the impression that it would eventually break free of his body if it continued beating so painfully hard... but the thought of what he might experience, once past that door, frightened him. More so, now that Riordan was dead.

"Zevran?" He glanced up, his train of thought broken. Surana was at the top of the stairs, with one hand on the door. He could see the worry in her eyes.

"I'm alright. Just wondering if my armor will hold," he lied.

"Trust me, they will. _You_ will," Wynne said wearily, "I did my best."

"Yes, of course, darling Wynne," Zevran responded light-heartedly. The senior enchanter shook her head in exasperation, wondering how he could still be so nonchalant when their lives practically hung on the balance. _But hers doesn't._ Hers was a confirmed fate. Why did it have to be like this? Zevran had the insane idea that the Maker was punishing him for all the lives he'd taken up to this point – and He sure knew how to hit where it _hurt_.

xXx

With Zevran's lethal slash to the neck, the archdemon lay immobilized, its lifeblood bleeding away. Surana, who had been handling a few darkspawn, turned as it crashed to the ground. Zevran was flung back from the impact, narrowly dodging its massive head. Slammed onto the floor, the assassin heard a reverberating _crack_ and felt blood gush down his forehead. His split lip stung agonizingly, and his left arm had been mangled by one stealthy Genlock. He could feel Wynne's spells at work, magically knitting flesh and bone together. They suddenly faltered, as if even the healer couldn't keep up with the injuries he and Shale were sustaining.

Then something rushed past him, grabbing the sword he'd left embedded in that filthy Genlock. Despite being dazed and groggy from his massive blood loss, Zevran knew who it was. Only one person would charge recklessly towards the archdemon, holding a mere broadsword in hand - "Stop!" he shouted desperately, but his cries were drowned out by the metallic clangs of sword on shield. Soldiers everywhere were still battling floods of darkspawn. _Why ?_ Shouldn't the archdemon be dying? He'd severed a vital artery...

"_Riordan, he revealed to me why Grey Wardens are needed. We are needed because... when we slay the archdemon, its soul travels through the shared taint_ _to the Grey Warden's soul. And then... it kills the warden. Both die." _

_Both must die to end this Blight._

A brilliant flash of white light nearly blinded him. Without realizing it, Zevran had managed to crawl his way to the archdemon, leaving a trail of blood behind him. His eyes drank in the terrifying scene of his beloved forcing a sword through the gargantuan dragon's head. The brilliance spilled forth, touching him; its rays were warm and gentle - just like the sun this morning. Arrayed in golden radiance, braided hair loosened and flying wild with the force of the dragon's power, Surana looked like a goddess descended from the sky. She tried to pry herself away from the sword, but Zevran was close enough to see that the hilt was melting, fusing her hands to the lethal conductor that would be the bridge for the archdemon's soul to reach her own.

It was futile. She realized that. He could see the resignation replace the dying hope in her eyes, which were now a glimmering brown, illuminated by the golden coruscation emanating from the archdemon. Surana turned to him, and Zevran knew he would never forget this. Never forget _her._

"Zevran..." Despite the deafening roar of the tainted god's power, the assassin could hear her crystal-clear, as if she was standing by his side. "I love you. Live on." She smiled sincerely; a heartwrenching curving of the lips that lent a certain hope to her expression. Zevran reached out a sanguine hand towards her, the hurt in his chest ballooning to unbearable levels.

----------

Surana's eyes never left him, Zevran, the love of her life. Never once, when she'd first embarked on this journey with only Alistair, Morrigan and Dog, had she thought she'd find someone as wonderful as Zevran. They'd met as enemies – and now they would end as lovers. She was genuinely happy that Zevran refused to free his heart, even when faced with this prospect, for she would've done the same, had their positions been swapped.

Then she flinched as the sword began to burn. Desperately, she tried a final time to detach herself from the sword, but her hands were now shapeless: they were lumps of melted flesh fused with what was left of the hilt. Something icy was assailing her veins, sliding into her veins, using this unbreakable bridge as a connection. But it was only the prelude, as Surana soon realized. When the full force of the archdemon's angered soul slammed into her, she screamed: the warm light turned into fire, and she sobbed as she felt her body start to melt. But no – the radiance was still golden; it still looked warm. It was her _soul_ that was being burned, that was melting away under the wrath of the tainted god. One by one, her senses started to fail. She could no longer hear anything; the silence was terrifying. Her eyes desperately sought Zevran even as her sight began to die.

His face was contorted with agony as he whispered her name; she didn't need to hear him to know it. She smiled lovingly at him, the tears rolling down her cheeks as her world slowly turned dark. Then it was just her, and the archdemon. And then... no more.

Xxx

The light exploded, sending Zevran soaring through the air and landing hard on the stone floor of Fort Drakon. Wynne seemed to have regained whatever energy she lacked; his arm was feeling right again, and his head had cleared slightly. Despair threatened to overwhelm the assassin as he raced towards the slain archdemon, not caring that the darkspawn had retreated and the soldiers were cheering. Dropping to his knees, Zevran lifted the inanimate body of his beloved as Wynne raced over, casting her spells.

For a moment, he held the hope that there was still some fragment of her soul that had survived the archdemon's strike, and that she could still be healed. But as the old woman laid a trembling hand on the elf's icy forehead, Zevran's heart sank. He didn't look at Wynne. He didn't want to have confirmation – that Surana was dead, that she couldn't be saved.

Wynne rose, pausing only to heal Zevran of what little wounds her sudden burst of spells hadn't, before going to tend to the other wounded. Despite all the times he'd teased her, Zevran did appreciate that Wynne seemed to know just what exactly she should do in any situation. In this case, leave them alone.

Zevran gazed down at the serene face of his beloved. If her skin wasn't as pale as a corpse, and her body cold, he would've thought she was merely asleep. He traced her peaceful smile with his eyes, feeling the tears he'd held back for so long start to flow. They dripped onto her, but he didn't care. He wondered where she was now, whether she was watching him weep. But she'd died with such a joyful expression on her face – perhaps she was happier, wherever she was. She'd watch over him. Besides, he _had_ made a promise to her, and he wasn't going to break it.

The assassin bent down, brushing his lips against hers for a final time. Then he rose, carrying her body and noting that Wynne was nearly done with most of the soldiers. She gave him a long, hard look for a moment, and nodded. Perhaps she saw the glint of resolution in his eyes. Perhaps she saw nothing at all, but felt he was alright.

He'd give her a proper burial. But where would she want her grave to be? He pondered that as he reached the gates. Alistair was the first to see the dead Surana; his eyes sparkled with tears. "Zevran, I'm... I'm sorry. I should've been the one -"

"Don't. She chose it," the assassin said, feeling his chest swell with pride, "for your sake. For all our sakes." _And she made me promise. _Zevran held Alistair's pained gaze and continued, "I promised her I would live a life for us both. You are the rightful king of Ferelden. Serve your people and your nation well. You might grieve, but just remember this, Alistair: _I _am living a life for her, and for me. Live your life as you would a merciful, kind king."

"I won't forget her. Or you. Or anyone," Alistair said, choking on the words. He didn't have as much self-restraint as Zevran did: the king wiped his eyes. "Sorry." He looked at Zevran and smiled sincerely. "You know, I've always wondered what Surana saw in you. I think I know what it is that she saw, now."

Zevran grinned. "That I am unlike Ferelden men, who would not even listen to my advice on how one could improve one's se -"

"La la la!" Alistair exclaimed, dropping his sword and stuffing his fingers in his ears, "not listening!" Zevran grinned at his face, which was as red as a beetroot.

"Point proven."

"Uh, yes. Look, Zevran... will you stay for the coronation, at least? I... I have something I wish to announce on that day, and I'd appreciate it if you were... there."

Zevran paused. "You can count on my presence, my king. I merely ask that I get to have some time alone before your coronation, which I presume will happen in the next few days."

"Yes, of course," Alistair said quietly. "I'll make sure no one disturbs you in your room. I'll leave you now. And thank you."

Zevran strode through Denerim's gates, glancing once again at Surana's sweet smile. "Let's go, then, my heart. I have just the perfect plan of where we'll go after Alistair's coronation." He looked up at the sky and smiled to see the orange and red hues that a rising sun cast on the clouds. Zevran wondered if the hole her death had left in his heart would ever heal. Perhaps not. It would always remind him of... but he wouldn't die; he'd made a promise and he would keep it.

Dawn broke as he began walking down the imperial highway, back to their little camp of tents around a fire. Ferelden had been saved from a Blight, with other nations barely becoming aware. But at what price?


	3. Aftermath

**A/N: **The next chapter is when I start to branch into the different quests, so this might be kind of like a filler chapter to bridge the two. Pardon me while I replay Dragon Age to get a few facts straight!

**#03: Aftermath**

_The miracle I met on that day,_

_Is connected to the prologue of a story no one can even imagine._

_Even if they're common words, it's fine; I want to tell them straight to you,_

_I flap and fly to where you are,_

_Because I'll be by your side forever... _

----Phantom Minds, Nana Mizuki (translated lyrics)

"I give you your new king: Alistair, king of Ferelden." The hall reverberated with the cheers of the common folk. Zevran stood amidst and yet apart from them, sticking close to the companions he had travelled with. Alistair had shared his intentions with the assassin, wishing only to proceed with his blessings. Zevran had told him it was a lovely thought, and gave him the go-ahead. Now, the new king announced his decision to move the Circle of Magi from Kinloch Hold. The mages would be housed in a grander building that would be completed by the end of the year; a statue of Surana would be erected at its entrance, commemorating the mages' greatest sacrifice for the Blight.

Zevran remembered the woman telling him that the last Grey Warden to slay an archdemon – before Surana – had also been an elf. That Garahel had never been remembered in so opulent a way pained him slightly, for he was also of the second-class citizens – or so humans liked to think.

After the coronation, Alistair mingled briefly with the crowd before approaching the band of misfits that Surana had taken in and brought together as a team. "Where... will all of you go now?" he asked quietly, averting his gaze to the stone-tiled floor.

The assassin was astonished to find that almost every one of them already had a destination in mind. He himself had only made up his mind as he buried Surana's body on a hill overlooking the designated site of the Circle's new home, and that was hardly a day ago. Barely three days had passed since the Blight was ended, and people seemed to have forgotten the many sacrifices that the war had claimed. Or perhaps they were merely pretending not to remember. As much as he flirted with all kinds, Zevran could never tell with humans. Surana's death was still a fresh wound, but his training as a Crow had taught him well. To the inexperienced eye, he seemed almost fine, save for the dark circles under his eyes.

Wynne would leave with Shale for the Tevinter Imperium immediately: Shale wished to return to her dwarven self. Sten would leave for his homeland, and Dog expressed excitement at following him; Leliana would journey to the Urn. As their companions each announced their plans, they took their leave. Very soon, only Zevran and Alistair were left. They stared at each other for a long moment. "And you?" Alistair sighed. "You won't be staying either... will you?"

Zevran smiled. "Of course not, my dear Alistair. There are many things in this world to discover, and furthermore, my life is not my own. Not anymore." He paused to pat the mabari warhound and then announced, "I'm returning to Antiva."

Alistair looked dumbstruck. "But – but – what about the Crows?"

"Oh, my journey with all of you has been a wonderful training opportunity, as well. I am fairly confident of single-handedly taking on the Antiva Crows, myself. It would be interesting, no?"

The ex-templar shook his head in exasperation. "I'll never understand you."

"Oh? On the contrary, my good friend, I believe I do. Now, before I leave – would you care to finally listen to some of my advice on how you can pleasure your -"

"Andraste's flaming sword! Not that again!"

Chuckling at Alistair's reddening face, Zevran bowed. "I take leave... my king. Till we meet again." Before the king could speak a word, the assassin vanished into the crowd, and Alistair was left to rule a nation – alone.

xXx

Nearly half a year later, Ferelden had all but recovered from the impact of the fifth Blight. King Alistair was called away to Weisshaupt Fortress to fulfill his Grey Warden duties: the roving bands of darkspawn were something to worry about. But this was not before he heard rumours of Zevran having ascended as the Antivan Crows' new leader in Antiva City. In moments of quiet contemplation, he mused over the irony of Zevran's surprising accomplishment. Inwardly, when they'd first met, Alistair was not only suspicious of the assassin, but also quietly confident that he would amount to little. Much to his astonishment, the elven mage had fallen for him, and changed him. His ideals hadn't changed at all, but at the very least, Zevran clearly valued his life much more than when they'd first met.

Alistair had had no need of assassination services, and thus they had not communicated. But he sometimes wondered how the scenario would be like if they met. Would Zevran have changed? Sobered, perhaps? Would _he_ – Alistair himself – have changed? He couldn't tell. But the Blight and its final battle still haunted his dreams. Did they haunt Zevran's as well? Did he still walk in a Blight-threatened Ferelden while he slept? Alistair thought he'd never know. At least, not until they met again.

In the meantime, however, he had darkspawn bands to kill.


	4. Nature of the Beast

**A/N:** I was too lazy to replay DA:O and get a few facts straight, so here's yet another random chapter. Based off Sarel's comments that the Veil in the Brecilian Forest is weaker as compared to other places.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Dragon Age: Origins or any of their colourful characters. Bioware does. But I sure as heck idolize David Gaider & his writing team.

#**04: Nature of the Beast**

_Does love always_

_Lead to sorrow?_

----Across Time, Sky of Illusions, FictionJunction/Kajiura Yuki (translated lyrics)

Zevran stared at the opulent room. He'd never quite adjusted to the truth: that he was now leader of the Antivan Crows, and there were precious few who could challenge him at this point. There were plenty of assassination attempts, of course, but Zevran had proved too wily to be fooled.

The ascension had not been easy. He'd had to hide in Antiva City and dodge everyone connected to the Crows – and that was easily more than half the city's population. Zevran had held assassins at knifepoint – easily overwhelming them with his skill – and extracted information crucial to his goal. Then, he'd formed a plan. Utilizing what the bard had taught him (he called it "disguise"; Leliana had called it "a different form of invisibility"), he'd disguised himself as a client and negotiated his way to meet with the Crows' head. Then he'd drawn a blade, reverted to the stealth mode that he was more comfortable with, and murdered the leaders. It was amazing how 'innocence' and 'client' went hand in hand. He'd slain all those holding positions of power – and then appointed new ones in their place. Those who tried to kill him, however, were swiftly dispatched. Many bowed to his otherworldly prowess (he was amused to learn that some younger assassins said he "fought like a bleedin' archdemon".), and still others obeyed out of sheer terror. Zevran was fine with either, so long as obedience was ensured.

Bed offers had been numerous, amounting into over a hundred sovereigns. Zevran's sexual experience was vast, and this made him skilled at pleasuring others, no matter the gender. He accepted only the highest bids, though, bleeding many merchants dry. But they'd returned, addicted to the satisfaction that only he could give them. Still, sex – and sometimes more – though it were, his heart never quite fell for anyone else. Surana had been right in guessing she would be the last woman to hold his heart prisoner – he was still imprisoned by her. And he didn't mind, though sometimes he still wanted to bawl like a child. As leader, only the gravest requests were brought to him, and so he had much free time. Often, Zevran honoured Surana by reminiscing about their short time together. Sometimes he wept. Other times, he smiled. And there were also times when he'd take out the gifts she'd showered him with after falling for him.

Today he was fingering a pair of worn Dalish gloves.

These gloves were made of supple leather and lined with soft rabbit fur. Certainly not as fine as his mother's gloves had been, but it still held much significance. Zevran slipped them on. Out of habit he didn't wear them: he hadn't worn them since he'd left Ferelden's court. The last time he'd worn them was during the final battle to end the Blight. He felt his guts twist as he recalled that time.

Zevran shook his head. _No._

Today he would remember the happier times. Well, given the impending Blight and the chaos befouling all their allies, nothing they'd experienced could rightfully be called "happy", but Zevran felt that it was in times of crisis that people learned to find happiness in small things. As Surana had quoted, "it is in times of trouble that we should seize moments of levity."

She'd rephrased a sentence the Circle's first enchanter had spoken. Irving, was it? Zevran had thought the wizened old man wise. He rather liked Irving for the mage's obvious sarcasm towards Greagoir.

But that was not the point.

Zevran never knew where she'd taken the gloves from. He did, however, associate them with the Dalish clan that they'd come across in the Brecilian Forest. This was several days after Surana had accepted him into her band of misfits; at that point, they had only conversed a few times, and he had yet to realize what the feeling in his gut was. He closed his eyes, conjuring the image of the bald Zathrian and his assistant, Lanaya. Then, gradually, the rest of the clan came into view.

xXx

From their camp, Surana had taken only Zevran – it seemed better for a group of elves to converse with the Dalish - and ventured into the Brecillian Forest in search of the clan. They did find the Dalish, and subsequently the two left to search for Witherfang. They trekked in silence, neither bothering to comment on the occasional battles and the ever-shifting paths of the haunted forest.

After several clashes with the werewolves and darkspawn, Surana and Zevran were a little worse for wear. Zevran had two broken ribs and a deep gash on his leg. Surana had healed them to the best of her ability, but his wounds itched under their bandages, but the fact that Surana hadn't received any severe damage satisfied him somewhat.

As he allowed himself to wallow in self-pity for a few minutes, Zevran noticed Surana's labored breathing. In concern, he glanced at her: she was pale. Beads of sweat rolled down her brow as she pressed her lips together. The mage looked pained, and try as he might, the assassin could find no obvious wound on her body. She seemed determined to forge on, though, and the few attempts to convince her to stop for a rest were in vain.

xXx

Behind the Grand Oak was a camp. The duo approached it warily. "It's deserted," Surana said quietly.

"Looks new," Zevran observed.

Surana observed the camp in pensive silence. Something was out of place. Zevran read that much from her hollow – and exhausted - look. But he was feeling impossibly drowsy, and before long, he had slipped into unconsciousness.

Zevran knew this, for the blackness was a gap in his memory. The next thing he remembered was Surana calling his name and shaking him awake. He opened his eyes to see the worried expression on her face switch seamlessly to one of relief. Confusion reigned in his mind.

"A demon," Surana answered his unspoken questions, "they prey on unsuspecting travellers."

"Then I must thank you for saving my life yet again," he said gratefully, and rose. She followed suit, and had barely taken two steps across the bridge before she fell. Alarmed, Zevran leapt into the shallow stream and caught her just before her head hit the water.

"What's wrong?" the assassin exclaimed, cradling her in shock.

"Head," she gasped desperately, "hurts..."

The pain was agonziing enough that it had incapacitated the mage. Surana closed her eyes against the migraine. Zevran rose, carrying her in his arms, and made his way towards the Dalish camp.

She clutched weakly at his arms. "We need to find Witherfang, Zevran," she whispered in frustration, "don't go back..."

He didn't care about finding Witherfang, not when the mage's breathing was labored and a thin film of sweat coated her clammy skin. As she slipped deeper into unconsciousness, Surana began to speak – whether from delirium or mere dreaming Zevran didn't know – but he couldn't understand her words. They were spoken too softly and too rapidly. He didn't bother to focus on them, either. All he cared about was getting her back to camp, and perhaps having Zathrian look at her for them.

He made it to the first crossroad when Surana suddenly woke. Her eyes snapped open, and she touched Zevran's chest, causing him to stop. "You're awake," the assassin said softly. "Can you walk?" When she consented, he let her stand. She leaned against him for a moment, exhaling slowly. Then she pulled away from him, as if embarrassed to display that moment of weakness.

"It's the forest, no?" Zevran pressed as he eyed her. She looked well enough, considering that she'd just passed out from a migraine not too long ago. Pale and shaken, but not endangered whatsoever. Surana nodded.

"I am sorry," he offered. To his surprise, he meant it.

She was duly astounded. "Why are you apologizing?"

"The demon, from earlier. I should have known better than to let my guard down in that camp."

Surana put two and two together. She shook her head, throwing both her hands up in the air. "No, it's not the demon. It's" - she waved a hand desperately around her - "the entire forest."

It was Zevran's turn to be bewildered.

Surana saw that, and she sighed. "You wouldn't understand, but I'll try to explain. The forest... it's seen too much death. And the Veil is weak here."

"Sarel said something like that."

She nodded. "He did. Demons pass from the Fade here much more easily than in other places... and I draw my powers from the Fade, like all mages do," Surana said wearily, "the demons are aware of my presence here, and it's an uphill battle for me. I have to stop them from possessing me. I don't want to become an abomination, but I feel like I can't move in this place without risking becoming one. It's like I have one foot in the Fade and the other foot in the forest... it _hurts._" She cupped her head in both hands, squeezing her eyes shut.

Surana was right. Zevran didn't understand. But he did comprehend one thing: that being in this forest pained her, and she wanted to get this over and done with quickly. Still, the assassin doubted it was as easy as merely finding Witherfang and slaying it. He wanted to help her – anything to prove his loyalty, and perhaps more – but he didn't know what he could do.

Eventually he threw all caution to the wind and followed instinct. Stepping forward, he held her in his arms. "Then I'll do this if it hurts," Zevran said, embracing the elven mage sincerely, "and I'll hold you until it doesn't hurt anymore." Her hands hesitated, falling from her head. Noticing her lack of response, he probed, "or should I not?"

She stiffened, and then gingerly wrapped her arms around his waist. "No. By all means."

And despite the lives and hopes that lay on their shoulders, Zevran wished this moment would last forever. It felt _right._

xXx

It was their first night back in camp, after breaking the curse Zathrian had laid upon the humans. Surana had refused to kill Witherfang after learning the whole truth, choosing instead to force Zathrian to break the curse. After all, magic, she said, was dangerous only to those who were not strong enough to control it. And the Dalish Keeper was one such person.

Zevran slipped into Surana's tent after dinner for the first time, a bowl of stew in hand. She'd been sleeping for the better part of a day, and after he recounted their journey, no one blamed her for it. "Dinner?" he asked, handing the bowl to her.

She flushed. "Thanks."

They lapsed into an awkward silence, neither one looking at the other. Surana picked at Alistair's Ferelden lamb stew, reluctant to stuff the bland food down her throat. After a long while, Zevran made to leave, but Surana grabbed his wrist. "Wait, please."

He stared at her questioningly.

She dug under her bed, and extracted a pair of gloves. "For you," she mumbled, thrusting them out to him, all the while not meeting his gaze.

Zevran took them with a hint of surprise. "Dalish... gloves?" He turned them over, the shock blossoming across his face. "But these are just like my mother's! Ah, thank you." His tone was suave, but not without sincerity.

Her face was as red as an apple. She closed her eyes briefly and rose. "Time for you to go, then." He was practically pushed out of her tent, and she sealed the flap as soon as he was out. Alistair – the only one who'd noticed his emergence - gave him an odd look, one that was caught between suspicion and satisfaction that he'd been kicked out of the mage's tent.

Zevran purposefully wore a gleeful smile and tried on the gloves as Alistair watched. The ex-templar was no fool; he just wanted to goad the Chantry boy a little. The assassin flexed his fingers, temporarily astonished at how comfortable the gloves were. They were clearly of excellent make. Oddly enough, they also felt cold, as if someone had washed them in water not long ago. Where in the forest had Surana found these? Zevran met Alistair's eye and grinned at the envious expression that flashed across his face. Quickly the assassin slipped into his tent, where he scrutinized the gloves in the hopes of obtaining some clue to their origin.

He found nothing, save for a faded bloodstain at the cuff.

The gloves were also curiously shiny, as if they had been polished.

Zevran wondered if Surana had looted the gloves from a corpse, realized they were Dalish gloves, and subsequently cleaned them before giving the gloves to him. It was not impossible; the mage had been fiddling with something when he'd first entered. Might it have been these?

The thought made him smile.

Then he frowned. An Antivan Crow should not have such feelings. He had sold the illusion of love long ago. Such a thing couldn't exist in an assassin's life – not when death was all that he lived to deliver. Zevran decided he would wait. He would bid his time, fortify his heart, and hope that in time... this queasy emotion would fade.


	5. Understanding

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Dragon Age: Origins. Bioware does. And I wish _Awakening_ would hurry up and come out already!

_Together in all these memories,_

_I see your smile;_

_All the memories I hold dear._

_Darling, you know I'll love you till the end of time._

-----Memories, Within Temptation

**#05: Understanding**

Oh, how he missed her. He felt as if a large portion of his heart had been ripped out when she ran that sword through the damned archdemon. In all the memories of their journey, he saw only her sincere, beautiful smile. Memories were the only way he could remember her. Oh, how he feared the day when these memories – which he held so dear – would fade away into oblivion.

Zevran had only been to Kinloch Hold – the tower that was home to Ferelden's Circle of Magi – once, in his entire life. That was when Surana had traveled there to secure the mages' aid for the coming Blight. They had subsequently been trapped in the Fade and eventually killed all the abominations, Uldred included. What Zevran remembered with startling clarity was their conversation after securing the Circle's alliance.

Alistair had cooked his famous tasteless Ferelden lamb stew, much to the chagrin of the others. Wynne - the newest addition to their motley group comprising Sten, Dog, Morrigan, Alistair, Leliana, Zevran and Surana - had literally exploded, and announced that from this day onwards, she would take over the preparation of the party's meals. There was a collective sigh at her decision, and Alistair was left to sulk at a corner.

Zevran took off his upper armor and reclined against a tree just on the outskirts of the camp.

"Zevran. Are you alright?" He opened his eyes to see Surana standing over him. She had stripped off her armor and had a towel wrapped around her torso. Her hair was still wet from the bath she'd enjoyed in a nearby stream. He found himself studying the delicious curves of her body for the first time. Dog interfered then, perhaps out of envy, lightly nipping his fingers to draw his attention.

"Yow!"

"Bad dog," Surana snapped, bending down to smack Dog lightly on the ear. The warhound whimpered. The elf's action, however, exposed her cleavage to Zevran, who snorted.

"That's a gorgeous body you have there." He couldn't help himself.

Surana straightened, staring blankly at him. When the full realization of what he meant hit her, he received the pleasure of watching her face redden. "I... I can't believe... are you always this crude?"

"I would rather you not call me crude," Zevran responded stoically, "I am merely appreciating the excellent anatomy of an elven female that you are blessed with."

The mage rolled her eyes. "I hope you are aware of the fact that I can certainly blast you into oblivion if I so wish it."

"Of course, sweet lady. It is well wtihin your ability to."

She shook her head, exasperated. Droplets of water hit Zevran in the face. "You are missing the point. My... _body_ is not what I came to talk about."

"Indeed. I would think not, if this is how you react to my sincere comment." His eyes continued to trace her figure.

"Enough about that," she said, her cheeks flushing, much to his amusement.

"As you wish."

"If I remember right, I asked you a question earlier," she began, folding her arms impatiently.

"You most certainly did," the assassin replied lightly.

"You never answered."

"Well, now that we've exchanged so many words, what do you think?"

Surana sighed, making her frustration clear. "You're fine?"

"Absolutely. Fit as a fiddle. Why do you ask?"

"Well, because... what I saw in the Fade..." her voice trailed off, and she shifted uncomfortably. Dog settled himself at her feet.

"Ah, that." Zevran lapsed into silence as he wondered just what a proper response would be. _I was actually afraid? It doesn't matter, since it's in the past? That was during the years of training before I became an Antivan Crow? _What sort of answer was she – the woman to whom he was bound by his sworn oath – expecting? "As you probably know by now, I was bought by the Crows for an excellent price. Three sovereigns, I'm told, which is a good price. Of course, becoming an Antivan Crow was no easy feat. We were subjected to harsh training. Those who failed were killed."

"And this system... worked?" Her voice was hollow.

"It certainly did. The strongest emerged as Antivan Crows. What you saw was merely one of my... training sessions, before I became a Crow."

He expected pity, which he disliked, but he found none. Instead, Surana's lips curved into a slight smile. "It reminds me of... my time in the tower."

The assassin looked slightly taken aback.

She continued, "we were virtually prisoners, after all. As mages we were deemed dangerous by the Chantry. We weren't allowed to venture outside Kinloch Hold – and inside, the templars watched our every move."

"Even while you bathed?" Zevran couldn't help himself again.

"Zevran!"

"I apologize, sweet lady."

Surana sighed. "Anyway... it was almost like a regime. Apprentices worked really hard, because we all knew that if we didn't, we would lose all our hopes, dreams and emotions... or die. It was self-inflicted torture. A mental one. But it was also training. All that pressure and fear hardened my mind, fortified mental walls that wouldn't break down under the temptation of a demon."

"Just like how I had to endure physical torture. It was training to harden my heart, fortify walls around it that wouldn't break down under the prospect of pain... or death," Zevran breathed, seeing the correlation.

The mage smiled sadly. "Then there comes a time in every apprentice's life, where we would take the test known as the Harrowing. We would be sent into the Fade, unarmed and alone, to face a demon. If we passed, we would become a full member of the Circle. If we failed, we would turn into an abomination, and the templars would kill us."

_We had to undergo many tests of pain. If we passed, we would become a Crow. If we failed, we would be killed. _"But you took the Harrowing, and you passed."

"Just as you passed all your training and became a Crow, no?" Surana replied softly, leaning against the tree. An awkward silence descended, and then she asked, "are you... happy?"

"Are you?"

He suddenly felt much closer to Surana than he'd ever had. Even their brief moment together in the Brecilian Forest paled in comparison to the warmth that now blossomed in his chest. Zevran wondered if she felt the same way. As if knowing what was coming, Dog rose and trotted away to pester Alistair.

Surana slid to the leafy ground beside Zevran. Her hair was mostly dry, by now. She was so close that he could feel her soft skin brushing against his. It was almost like an invitation. Zevran reached out to grasp her hand, and pulled her gently to him as he shifted so that the trunk blocked their companions' view. In the semi-darkness of the forest, their garments fell away like water. Zevran's hands explored her body just as she explored his. Surana seemed to melt, flowing together with his fluid movements.

The animals were their only witnesses as the mage and assassin shared a moment of intimacy, a moment that would mark the beginning of the countdown to his beloved's death.


	6. Possession

**A/N:** Thanks for the reviews, folks! I've been busy with Awakening, and I'm tempted to start another fic based off the expansion, but I think I'll bring this one to a close first. This isn't the last chapter, but I'm not going to drag the story either. Enjoy! As for the reference to the Fade spirit, I assumed that since there are spirits of faith, benevolence and whatnot, why not the stereotypical love? It'd fit the context way better in this case, so don't come after me with a chopper for introducing a spirit of love.

**Disclaimer:** The awesomeness that is Dragon Age: Origins does not belong to me, sadly.

Are you the one?

Who'd share this life with me,

Who'd dive into the sea with me.

Are you the one?

Who's had enough of pain,

And doesn't wish to feel the shame, anymore.

Are you the one?

----_Are You the One, Within Temptation_

**#07: Possession**

A tentacle swooped towards him. Deftly, Zevran parried the blow and replied in turn, scoring a gash across the slimy surface. The Broodmother gave a deafening howl, her flabby chests quivering in agitation. Pale and unnerved, the assassin attempted to regroup with Alistair and Oghren, but a particularly vicious tentacle stood in his way. Behind him, he could hear the faint hum of magic as Surana wove raw energy into powerful spells. Fire rained onto the Broodmother, who screeched in agony, calling forth yet more darkspawn. Exhausted, Zevran gritted his teeth and hacked at their enemies, even as the two warriors fought their way towards him.

xXx

Surana was largely unnoticed by the men, since the trio was in the Broodmother's direct line of fire. She was fully aware of the fact that she was fast approaching her limits, however. Soon, she knew, she would be incapable of supporting the team. What then? Would the mother of all darkspawn be dead when she ran out of strength? The mage highly doubted it. All around her were the streams of energy that ran through every part of the world. It was from these magical rivers of lyrium that the mages drew their raw strength from, and shaped them into a desired manifestation. That the dwarves were immune to most magic was an indicator of how heavy the lyrium atmosphere was in the Deep Roads. Here, at what seemed like the heart of all power, Surana's body was the only limitation.

With a supreme effort of will, she summoned what was left of her reserves, and began tapping into the raw lyrium that lingered in the cavernous chamber. Zevran was making no headway in regrouping with Alistair and Oghren; the three of them were also bleeding heavily from various wounds. Surana, apart from a gash on her forehead, was unhurt. Then and again, the men had skillfully kept the Broodmother's attention away from her. Even as her thoughts began to run wild, the lyrium she folded with her hands was beginning to take form.

Then she clapped her hands together, and the spell exploded. A thick, white mist poured from between her fingers, rapidly filling the cavern. This was swiftly followed by the howl of an icy wind. Surana gritted her teeth against the fierce headache pounding away at her temples, and sustained the blizzard, which would provide cover for the warriors, if not freeze them. Every spell had its cons.

And suddenly, a sharp, intense pain stabbed through her chest, and her lips opened in a soundless scream.

xXx

When the snowstorm began, Zevran quickly used the flurry of snow to his advantage. In a split second he had beheaded what was left of the darkspawn, and was now hacking away at yet another of the Broodmother's tentacles. It was friggin' cold, but he could live with it. The only problem was that the blizzard had also shrouded Alistair and Oghren from view, and he wasn't really sure how he could find them. Their enemy's silhouette, however, was painfully obvious. It was too gargantuan to be hidden by a mere snowstorm. He tried to think.

But his strategies were quickly interrupted when his heart skipped a beat. Instinctively, Zevran leapt backwards, away from the tentacle. Out of the blue, every inch of him needed to be by Surana's side; something had happened. He knew it. He had to find her. He didn't know what or why, but he just had to be there. The assassin retraced his steps as the storm began to fade, no longer sustained by its creator. It didn't take him long to find their fearless leader.

Surana was kneeling on the ground, clutching her chest. Crimson droplets fell to the stony floor, dotting the brownish marble with red splotches. Alarmed, Zevran fended off a Genlock and caught her just as she fell, inanimate. The arrow's head protruded from between her breasts. All thoughts of regrouping vanished from the assassin's head as he skillfully snapped the tip and gently extricated the arrow from her body. It had been a well-aimed shot, and had come just as she was also magically weakened. The mage was deathly pale; beads of sweat clung to her feverish skin as Zevran tore a strip of cloth from her robe and bound the wound. Behind him, the Genlock approached.

"Zevran! Incoming!" Alistair's roar made the assassin swing round and impale the darkspawn through the neck, just seconds before its blade would've cleaved him cleanly into two.

"We need to run!" Zevran growled. His gaze shot to the only two exits from this chamber, and knew his remark was futile. Both were guarded by three menacing tentacles. But if we worked together, maybe…

"Don't be an idiot! If we don't kill her – I mean, it, it'll send tons of darkspawn after us!" Alistair snapped. "We'll have a Blight on our hands, underground, and with only us three to handle it!"

"Three?" he echoed furiously, "what about her?"

Oghren, who had remained surprisingly silent until now, finally spoke. "She's not going to make it; that arrow was a fatal strike. Last I remember, the heart was somewhere there, and no one's survived a hole in the heart," the half-drunk dwarf muttered.

Alistair looked pained. That expression quickly changed to frustration when a tentacle swooped at his feet.

Zevran stared at Surana. Her breathing was labored now, and her pulse weak. A pool of blood had accumulated in the time they took to discuss their plans: it seemed his makeshift bandage was doing little to staunch the bleeding. To one who delivered death to others on a daily basis, it was painfully obvious that Surana was dying. She would be dead in a matter of minutes. What Alistair and Oghren were saying was logical. But Zevran would rather flee the battle now – if it meant they would have a chance to save her. "Wynne's just a couple of tunnels away," he argued, "that's where we set up camp. Maybe we can –"

"Zevran. I know it's hard for you, but we need you here. We need you to leave her and fight this… this… ugly and fat… thing!"

But to leave her would mean letting the darkspawn have her. The creatures were coming towards him, eager to seize yet another woman that they could perhaps turn into another abomination. He couldn't do that. He couldn't just sit by and do nothing. Rinna died because of my folly. Because I wasn't strong enough to say no…

Bravely, the assassin rose. The darkspawn came towards him. He sheathed one dagger and lifted Surana in that free hand. Calmly, he slit the throat of the nearest Hurlock.

"Whatever you say, Alistair, I'm not leaving her." He braced himself for battle.

Then an invisible force flung the darkspawn several feet away.

xXx

When she opened her eyes, she was in the Fade. Something brilliant was kneeling in front of her, blinking in and out of focus. Or perhaps the problem lay with her sight. Surana could vaguely make out the figure of a woman, and the spirit's long, shining hair spilled onto her chest. _How?_ She felt herself say, though she heard nothing.

_**The veil is weak here, beloved. Lyrium has weakened the veil, and fortified the minds of the stone-walkers.**_

_This is the Fade._ But she didn't feel right. Her limbs felt bound and unable to move. In the distance, she could just barely make out the Black City itself. But most of her sight was filled by this shimmering white form, whose identity she couldn't make out.

_Who are you?_

Did the spirit smile? Surana's heart skipped a beat. If she was going to be possessed –

_**I am a spirit… of Love.**_

_Love…?_

_**We are few and far in between, but we are drawn to those whose hearts are strong with this particular emotion.**_

_I am not strong with this,_ she whispered, _I am confused._

_**Pardon me, beloved. **__**You**__** are confused. We, however, are absolutely clear on your stance. Do you not have unfinished business in that world?**_

_They can be accomplished by another. I… I don't want this burden anymore. I want to die._ She realized this with startling clarity.

_**The fact that your heart has drawn me here seems to tell me otherwise,**_ the spirit mused softly. _**You'll find your reason. I know that you have a reason. That is why your soul has lived long enough to find me. I bestow upon you… myself.**_ The spirit leaned towards her, its white face melting into her own. Warmth blossomed through her icy body, filling her veins and heart with a strange tingling feeling that reminded her of life.

And she heard the darkspawn's growls, but above all, she heard him.

"_I won't leave her."_

The reason suddenly became clear.

xXx

"But… how can it be?" Zevran murmured, staring at the revived mage in his arms. Surana's hand was outstretched, and it was her mental blast that had sent the darkspawn sprawling backwards. Yet, just moments before, he could've sworn she was on the brink of death. Her robes were still bloodstained, but the gaping wound had disappeared. The mage met his gaze for a moment, and then averted her eyes.

"Can I do this… later?" she asked, gesturing to their enemies, who were now scrambling to their feet.

"… Right…" the assassin muttered as he helped their leader to her feet and drew his daggers. "Bring it on, darkspawn scum! Fall before the mighty Zevran!"

"Just focus on fighting them already," Surana snapped from behind. His lips curved into a tiny smile, and a split second later, he wondered why he was smiling. _A woman shouldn't energize me so…_

But she did.

Fighting their way back to Alistair and Oghren was not easy, but the two elves seemed to draw strength from each other. The two warriors were nothing short of astounded to see Surana alive and dishing out spell after spell like a bleeding archdemon, but reserved their questions for later.

The Broodmother fell to the combined effort of the foursome, but her death did nothing to quell the lingering confusion in Zevran's heart – and the growing realization that he had to end it before he lost himself to her.

_Surana. _


	7. Where Loyalties Lie

**Disclaimer:** Dragon Age: Origins is Bioware's. I wish I owned the Architect, though.

_When I come to like you,_

_The eternity ends._

_The joy and pain of living begin,_

_in the light. _

----Fairytale, Kalafina (english lyrics)

**#07: Where Loyalties Lie**

"Andraste's blood! It _hurts!"_

"Quit screaming like a lady, Zevran, and take it like a man!" Wynne snapped.

"I will if you stop – _ow!_ - rubbing it – _ow! _- so – _ow!_ - hard!" the assassin exclaimed, wincing as the elderly mage applied pressure onto the deep gash on his chest.

"Andraste's grace, if you don't let me do what I must, Zevran, the injury kit isn't going to do its job, and my healing won't be efficient. I'm not going to heal that again. Then your wound will fester. And if it festers, weeping bloody pus and burning like the flame of Andraste's pyre, don't come to me. All I'm going to say is, '_Zevran, didn't I tell you to_ _take it like a man?'_"

For a moment, Zevran looked utterly taken aback. And then he said, brightly, "you know, I'm impressed, my dear Wynne... you have an amazingly marvelous bosom, and the wit to go with it."

"Zevran, if I were you I'd choose my words very carefully, because..." she poked his sensitive gash, making him emit an impossibly high-pitched sound, "... simply because."

"Don't poke me there again, I'll listen," he mumbled, admitting defeat.

"Good. As it happens, I've finished," Wynne said, cleaning and bandaging the wound. "Darkspawn-infliced injuries sometimes cause the taint to spread in the body if left untreated, but since this is from the source of all darkspawn itself, I was a little more thorough. Anyway, you're not likely to lose your mind, so off you go, now."

"Wonderful." He rose and left the elderly mage and her tent, which smelled of health poultices and elfroots. After they'd defeated the Broodmother, they had made a hasty detour to the makeshift camp, where Wynne and Morrigan awaited. The prompt – but incomplete - treatment had probably saved both Zevran's and Oghren's lives. By the time they left Orzammar, more than a week had passed. Sten and Leliana waited for them at the actual camp, located at the foot of the Frostback Mountains. There, the two non-Grey Wardens' wounds were properly detoxified.

Zevran had never been so happy to see the sun, but his joy had been short-lived. As soon as they reached camp, he was hustled into Wynne's tent, where he remained until nightfall. The fire coughed tiny embers into the air, and he glanced at the starry sky. With the memory of the Broodmother battle still fresh in his mind, he couldn't help but wonder at Surana's miraculous revival. It seemed almost impossible, unless... unless... but he had been so utterly relieved to see her alive -

An image of a dying Rinna flashed across his mind.

_Don't forget what you're here to do, Antivan Crow._

Zevran's hand flew to the large, diagonal gash across his chest almost instinctively. It was bandaged, but he thought he felt the wound throb once.

_Kill the Grey Warden._

How was it that he could hear Rinna's voice in his head, crystal-clear, as though she was standing right beside him? Rinna was dead. She had died -

_- by __**your**__ hand. You had me murdered in cold blood. You __**saw**__ it. Now do the same to her._

He turned towards her tent, and saw a movement within. Without a doubt, Surana was inside, probably unarmored and unprepared. His approach would be viewed as completely normal, given what they'd been through together. If he stepped in with a knife behind his back, he doubted she'd be aware of it. It was indeed the perfect opportunity to kill her. He could return to Antiva, hailed a hero for accomplishing the impossible -

_But why does my heart stay my hand?_

_I've failed_, Zevran realized, _I've failed in protecting my heart._ He'd let emotions get the better of him. He'd let mere pleasure become more than just a fleeting enjoyment – he'd entertained the possibility of eternity with Surana. And what had become of the last time he'd done that? He'd watched Rinna die – and felt as if his heart was being torn apart. He couldn't go through that again and live. He had to complete his job before he ended up hurting himself again.

_Let's finish this._

Quietly, he slipped into his tent, pulling a shirt over his half-naked body and sliding his Crow dagger into the folds of his pants. Then, he stepped out, carefully observing each party member's position. Alistair's back was to him; Shale was busy staring at Morrigan, who in turn was examining a rather elegant mirror. Wynne was nowhere to be found; Sten's cold gaze was fixed on the woods, alert for any sign of invasion. Leliana sat on the log, her attention on the nug she'd brought back from Orzammar. If Zevran was stealthy enough, he could sneak past the fellow rogue to Surana's tent. It wouldn't be hard; everyone's guard was down.

He moved in utter silence, melting into the shadows itself. Reaching Surana's tent, he lifted the flap and took a peek in. The mage hadn't noticed his arrival; her back was facing him. In the flickering candlelight that illuminated the tent, Surana looked radiant. Her figure was shapely and – dare he admit it – perfect. But there was more to her that enraptured him than merely her body. He slipped in, the cold knife pressing against his skin.

An assassin's first training session involved sneaking up behind a target. It was a necessary skill, one that should be perfected as soon as possible. He was within reach of her back now. Stealthily, Zevran drew the hidden knife. The blade glinted in the candlelight. All he had to do was plunge it in, and then flee back to Antiva. The job would be complete; the Crows would be pleased.

_But there must be more to life than this... cycle of murder._

No matter how much his mind screamed at him, his body didn't seem to be responding. Zevran stood frozen behind her, with the dagger raised high above his head. Why couldn't he do this? Why couldn't he kill the Grey Warden just as he'd killed so many?

"_Are you... happy?"_ Surana's voice echoed in his mind. He'd responded by offering her pleasure. But no one had ever asked him that. Only Rinna had, and it had been a question he'd avoided back then. He never did have an answer. Not before, and not now either.

_Don't let the hurt repeat again._

But he still couldn't bear the thought of sliding the Crow dagger through Surana's flesh. It appalled him in a way he couldn't understand.

Zevran must have made a sound, for the mage suddenly turned. She barely flinched at his presence, though her gaze wandered to the blade uncertainly. Laid in her lap was a pair of leather boots. For a moment, neither side spoke. Then, as Zevran tried to hide the dagger, Surana reached out and stayed his hand. Slowly, she drew it close, until the blade pricked her neck. A tiny trickle of blood flowed from the harmless cut. Zevran stared.

"I thought it might come to this," she explained, smiling sadly. "I'd hoped... that perhaps what I felt was reciprocated... but it doesn't seem so. You're a very hard person to read, you know? I thought I wouldn't know until something like this happened." Surana hesitated, eying the tortured expression on Zevran's face. "To be honest, I've already lived past my stipulated time. I shouldn't be, but I am... alive. So if you don't..." - _give me that reason to go on_ - "... then end it like a Crow would."

_You are an Antivan Crow._

Numbed, Zevran could only look deep into her eyes. He saw a feeling similar to what he felt, but he still couldn't understand. Nonetheless, he knew his heart already comprehended. The mind was always slower to grasp than the heart in the affairs of emotions. And he feared that understanding, feared that it would completely unravel his life. Driven by that fear, Zevran started to apply pressure, opening a deeper wound in Surana's neck. The mage closed her eyes. Her whole body sagged, awaiting his verdict.

_He loved her. How could he not? She was the most perfect, most gorgeous, most wonderful elf he'd ever met. And his closest friend murmured that she would betray them all to their target. He loved her. But he didn't stop it. He didn't stop Taliesen. He simply stood by and watched her die. He heard her desperate – and truthful, as it later turned out - pleas of innocence; he held her tortured, heartbroken gaze as her lifeblood bled away. It ripped his heart into two, it did. But **fear** had paralyzed him. And that was why love – the emotion he sold after her death – had hurt him._

And then he let go.

The dagger fell with a clatter. Surana's eyes snapped open, and she stared questionngly at him. Zevran hung his head. _Rinna... I'm sorry. I can't do this. I made that mistake once, and I won't make it again._

An awkward silence hung in the air.

"Once," Zevran began quietly, "I loved a fellow elven assassin – Rinna was her name. We were on a mission together, when Taliesen – my best friend – told me that sources said Rinna planned to betray us, and hand us over to the enemy."

"What did you do?" she asked softly.

"I... Taliesen suggested we kill her before she did so, and I... agreed. I watched her die. She said she was innocent, and I didn't believe her." He looked away. Part of him was expecting an awkward reaction from the mage. It wouldn't be abnormal, but he didn't like it. He didn't like it when people reacted uneasily towards something he trusted them with – though of course, as an assassin, he'd put all that aside a long time ago.

But Surana didn't do what he'd anticipated. She hardly did, anyway. The mage eyed him for a moment, and then she set aside the boots. Now that Zevran had had a good look at them, he had to say they looked strangely familiar. Then he didn't think about the shoes anymore, for Surana pulled him into a gentle embrace. He reached out for her, then, caressing her milky skin as they sank onto the makeshift bedroll.

And it felt _wonderful._

xXx

He was lying beside her and enjoying the slow and steady rhythm of her breathing. The knife had long been kicked into some dusty corner. He'd forgotten about wanting to kill her, actually. And he didn't want to, at any rate. He had accepted that truth when she melted into his arms once more.

There was a movement to his left. He turned as Surana reached out for the boots she'd laid aside earlier. Then she sat up, prompting him to do the same. "Close your eyes," she announced.

Zevran raised an eyebrow. "I know what it is: a pair of boots."

She grinned. "I know you know that. I want you to know something else."

He smiled and closed his eyes, still keeping one eybrow raised. Leather brushed lightly against his chin as she held the boots close to his nose. Taking a deep breath, Zevran was astonished to find an incredibly nostalgic smell assailing his nostrils. The surprise showed in his face as his grin broadened. "Ahh, I would know that smell from anywhere! _Antivan_ leather! Where did you find them?" He took the boots almost reverently. Surana watched his childlike reactions with amusement.

"That's a secret," she said, tapping her nose. He pouted. Her pleasure at his joy quickly subsided when she noticed Zevran was just hugging the boots to his chest and taking long, deep drags of the leathery smell. "What are you waiting for?" she grumbled, smacking him lightly on the thigh, "put them on already!"

"But I'm not done admiring them yet!" he protested. Even as he said that, he'd stretched his legs and slipped them on slowly. Then he beamed. "And they fit, as well! Marvelous!"

Surana nodded, satisfied. Silence eventually descended as he focused on the boots, wiggling his toes in the comfortable doeskin. The feeling of possessing something from the glorious Antiva City – when he was so far from home - was ineffable. As he looked up, though, he saw the glinting blade reflected in Surana's eyes. She was staring at the weapon almost pensively.

"I guess I won't complete my job after all," he confessed, not meeting her piercing gaze.

"Why not?"

Zevran's head snapped up in shock. _What sort of question is that? _Surana gave him one of her steely looks, the kind that challenged you to speak your mind. It was a look she often gave the Qunari, and the assassin suspected Sten remained with them only because he respected her strength of will. The challenge in her eyes was overwhelming. Zevran tried to find a satisfactory answer. "I... well, it's... this... ah... can we not speak of this?" he eventually snapped.

For what felt like an eternity, Surana stared at him. She wore an unfathomable expression on her face. "Very well." The mage rose, walking past him as though he were a complete stranger. "Get ready to pull up camp. We leave for Denerim in half an hour's time." Still wearing that curiously unreadable look, she lifted the tent flap and stepped out, leaving Zevran sitting on the bed with only his thoughts for company.

And they weren't pleasant at all.

_Rinna, I'm so confused. My chest tightens every time I see her. Each time we make love, I feel like I want it to last forever. This isn't normal. Tell me it isn't what I think it is, Rinna. Please._

The silence confirmed his fear much more dramatically than a voice coming from within him ever could.


	8. Alienage

**Disclaimer:** Dragon Age: Origins is the most awesome RPG ever. Shame it isn't mine, though.

_I, I've been waiting for someone like you_

_But now you are slipping away._

_Why, why does fate make us suffer?_

_There's a curse between us, between me and you._

---- What Have You Done, Within Temptation

**#08: Alienage**

Zevran fingered the earring that he'd given Surana, and which had returned to his possession after her death. That earring – a simple gold loop – carried with it quite the history of bloodshed, regret, and forsaken love. That earring had seen the death of every victim of his; even Rinna's death, however uncalled for it was. That earring had been there when his only love had died. He fingered it now as he lounged in the lap of luxury.

_Head of the Antivan Crows._

Every master reported to him. No matter how much they might despise him, they weren't in an advantageous position. He was their lifeline, and he could very easily destroy their lives – and them. Such was the power of an underground leader. Antiva bowed to him; just a week ago he had permitted the assassination of the incompetent king. Now there was civil chaos, but it would pass. Of that he was certain.

But where was he?

Oh yes, the earring. It brought him back to a certain regret – concerning not Rinna, but rather, Surana.

xXx

When they'd last been to Denerim, the elven alienage had been closed off, much to Surana's disappointment. With the Landsmeet approaching, however, Arl Eamon had requested them to investigate a possible lead in the alienage. With any luck, they'd find evidence to use against Loghain. Surana had been surprisingly resistant to the idea, but Eamon managed to convince her to do it for the 'greater good'. She'd reluctantly consented.

Now they stood – just Zevran and herself – at the gate to the walled-off area. Surana had decided to take just them elves – the presence of humans might aggravate the tension. Even so, Zevran felt uneasy. He could practically feel the vibes of hesitation radiating off Surana's body, and idly wondered if it was because she was a mage.

"Let's go," she said at last. It was more an encouragement to herself than anything else.

They wandered into the alienage. The assassin was completely lost, but Surana seemed to know the cramped areas like the back of her hand. At least, she was able to take him to the trademark tree that grew in the centre of the alienage. "It's changed," she observed at last, eyeing him.

Zevran felt a stab of guilt. They hadn't spoken about emotions ever since that conversation in the tent. He hadn't apologized. She hadn't voluntarily talked to him either. It was awkward, to say the least.

"You've been here before?" he asked dully.

"I was from the alienage," she answered coolly.

"And I was raised in a whorehouse."

"I believe my origin is better."

"Only by a tiny margin, dear lady."

She snorted, and walked ahead. Relief flooded him – at least the tension was somewhat broken, if not reduced. They passed beggars, maimed elves and drunken ones without comment. He wasn't truly sure what they were seeking, but he knew enough to know asking wasn't an option.

Suddenly, Surana stopped.

Zevran peered over her shoulder and saw a shrunken old elf. The mage's mouth opened and closed, almost as if she wanted to say something – but couldn't bring herself to do so. The elf – dressed in filthy rags – raised her head then. For a moment, her unfocused eyes ran blankly over the duo, and then widened in recognition.

"You!" the old woman hissed, glaring at Surana. Her silver hair was matted with dirt, and hatred lined every inch of her face. "I told you never to return!"

To Zevran's surprise, the mage didn't flinch at the woman's words. "I… I just wanted to see how you were doing, moth –"

"Don't call me that!" Elva screeched, leaping to her feet. "I'm not a mother of an abomination! You are no child of mine!"

Her shoulders sagged slightly. "I just wanted to – I could help, I'm…" she reached into her robes, taking out a small pouch of coins. Elva stared at them uncertainly.

"Mama!" a little boy's cry cut through the air. Elva looked beyond them, to the small frame of an elven boy. She stretched out her arms; he ran into them. "Who are they?" he enquired.

"They're nobody, dear child, nobody. No, don't touch them; they're filthy elves. You shouldn't touch them, my dear." The boy's innocent gaze bore into Surana's. The mage simply stared. Elva glared at her. "I have a child now. A child that I love. He's no abomination, not like you. You were never wanted. I wanted a normal child. But _you_ – the rest, they ostracized me, said I gave birth to _monsters._ Abominations. People who don't belong. I don't need a monster's help! Begone!" She slapped the mage's hand away.

For a moment, Surana said nothing. Then her eyes clouded over with an unfathomable emotion. Without so much as a backward glance, she whirled round and walked away, still keeping her composure. Throughout their battle to save the kidnapped elves, she did not once let her feelings show through. Zevran tried to pry open her closed heart, but to no avail It was only after she'd settled the alienage's problems, and handed the evidence to Arl Eamon, that she finally let herself go in her assigned bedroom.

Only Zevran – having slightly opened the door – saw the bitter tears she wept for a family she couldn't have.

The assassin looked away, hurt blossoming in his chest. What was this? Sympathy? No – _empathy_? Was he capable of that? It hurt him to see her heart broken. There was so little of her past that he knew. He wanted to know everything – so much more. Zevran fingered the earring in silence.

xXx

"_What's that?" Rinna'd asked when they'd first met, plucking the earring from his hand. He'd been fingering it for a while now, simply admiring its elegance and simplicity. _

"_Give it back!" Zevran exclaimed, chasing after her. She laughed._

"_Catch me, then!"_

_When he'd finally caught her, Rinna surrendered the earring. She smiled when he kept it protectively. "You must really like that earring," she observed._

"_It's important," Zevran responded, "it's from my very first mission."_

"_Ah, so it's memorabilia?" _

"_You could say that."_

_She leaned back. "Then you should give it to the one who's most important to you."_

_Zevran gave her a quizzical look. _

"_Things that are important to you… if you can give them to someone, that's like giving the person your heart. If you love someone, give them that earring. Because it's important to you. Love is all about fully giving your heart to someone, and trusting them not to break it."_

_He'd snorted. "I sold the illusion of love. You're talking to the wrong person."_

_Rinna smiled. "Even so, your day will come, Zevran. This, I promise you."_

"_You jest."_

"_Just you wait and see!"_

xXx

A feeling of warmth blossomed through his chest when he thought about giving the earring to Surana. Against all odds, it seemed as if Rinna was right. He should give it to her while he still could; who knew how long any of them had to live? If Loghain chose to murder them now, he most certainly could – and Zevran couldn't guarantee that they'd live. He might die without confessing what he'd come to realize.

_Yes._

Perhaps the day had indeed come.


	9. The Most Important

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Dragon Age: Origins. If I did, I'd be totally stressed over the coming expansions and (possible) sequel. Go Bioware! Love Awakening!

_Why does it rain, rain, rain down on Utopia?  
Why does it have to kill the idea of who we are?  
Why does it ran, rain, rain down on Utopia?  
How will the lights die down, telling us who we are?_  
----Utopia, Within Temptation

**#09: The Most Important**

Zevran might've expected the Crows to come after them again, but he hadn't expected them to be _that_ dumb. If they did come, he would've expected stealthy assassins, a couple of poisoned arrows and a fail-proof plan.

He certainly didn't expect them to strike in the busy streets of Denerim, much less in a face-to-face confrontation.

"Ah, and here is the Grey Warden. I see that Zevran isn't with you… pity. I had things to say to him. In any case, I bring the greetings of the Antivan Crows… once again." The human's lips curled a tiny fraction; a curt smile, but a smile nonetheless. He stood at the top of the staircase, towering over Surana's motley party of four.

The mage, however, seemed completely unfazed by his appearance. She lifted an eyebrow. "Who is he, Zev?"

_Ah, the first line she's spoken to me in days. _Zevran stepped out of the shadows then. "So, Taliesen… the Crows sent you?"

Taliesen looked surprised. "I would've thought you dead, Zev… no, I asked to take up the job. When I heard that the great Zevran had gone rogue, I simply had to see it myself."

"Well, here I am, and in the flesh too!" Zevran grinned. Surana sighed.

"Listen, Zevran. You can still come back with me. We can cook up a story… anyone would believe it. We can still go back, work together, be part of the Crows…" Taliesen went as far as to extend a hand.

"Of course I'd have to be dead first," Surana muttered. The Crow chuckled.

The assassin paused. _Here is a chance I would've taken just a month ago… _his gaze lingered on the hand. His own fingers twitched at the thought of acceptance, at the thought of simply killing the Grey Warden and going back to his old life. _Wine, women, men… a life of enjoyment, and the price a thrill. _He raised his hand, reaching out for Taliesen's. _I could go back, forget all this ever happened, forget the Warden, forget Surana -_

He thought of Rinna. He looked at Surana, who had turned away from him.

**"_Then you should give it to the one who's most important to you."_**

Zevran let his hand fall, taking a step back. "No." Taliesen blinked. "No," the assassin repeated firmly, "I won't do this. My place… is with Surana now. We had a good… time, you and I. I won't forget our experiences… but that isn't my life. Not anymore."

The mage turned to him, her eyes widening in shock. Taliesen scowled. "I gave you a chance, but you wouldn't take it. Then you and the Grey Warden will die by my hand today!"

Bloodshed was something Zevran relished, but it was tampered by the fact that it was Taliesen he was fighting. Surana seemed to realize this, engaging the human and leaving the others for him. Zevran slit the neck of the archers, leaping out of the way as Sten cleaved an assassin in two. He'd always marveled at the Qunari's amazing ability to wield that massive sword of his as though it weighed only a feather. The Asala was somewhat larger than most two-handed swords he'd seen. It looked heavy, too.

In the midst of a crimson shower, Zevran suddenly found himself face-to-face with Taliesen. The assassin wore a stunned expression on his face. "Zev…"

"I'm sorry, Tal. I'm sorry." _And Rinna too. _He slipped the dagger between the human's ribs, cleanly piercing through the heart. He hung his head as he pulled it out. Taliesen's lifeless body slid to the ground. Surana walked towards him, stopping at his side.

_I killed Rinna, and now I've killed you too, my friend. _Zevran took a moment to reflect on his friend's life, before glancing up. The mage was standing at the top of the stairs now, waiting for him to regain himself. Zevran hurried up as she turned to walk away. He grabbed her wrist. "Wait."

Surana turned, staring quietly at him.

"… Here." Hesitantly, Zevran dug into his pouch and opened her palm. He dropped something on it, closed her palm and pushed it back to her. Surana cocked her head quizzically at him. "It's…" he waved a hand, accidentally hitting Sten's head, "sorry, buddy. It's… a earring. A keepsake from my first mission. The man I was ordered to kill was wearing it. I thought it looked… pretty, so I kept it. It's yours now. If you want it."

The mage opened her palm then, gingerly lifting the earring with her slender fingers. She turned the plain gold earring around for a moment, as if contemplating whether to ask a question. "Is this a proposal, then?"

Zevran started. "I… well, you can… take it that way?"

Surana's lips curled into a genuine smile. "Thank you, Zevran. It's lovely."

He stepped forward. "Here, I'll… help you." She dropped the earring onto his hand, turning as he gently clipped the gold band onto the tip of her ear. "It suits you." He smiled nervously. Surana nodded, fingering her ear quietly.

The tension of the past few days suddenly dissipated then, and though she said nothing, Zevran knew he had been forgiven. And that made his heart swell with joy.

xXx

When the former Crow stepped into his room later that night, he found Surana waiting for him. She was still dressed in full battle regalia, and she was leaning on her sword. Zevran closed the door behind him, raising an eyebrow at her. The beautiful elven mage pointed the sword at him. "Teach me," she ordered with mock authority, "I want to learn how to fight."

Zevran's jaw dropped. "This, coming from the Grey Warden who's left a river of blood behind her? You're kidding, aren't you?"

She wasn't. "Teach me to fight your way," she insisted, "I don't want to be unprepared for the landsmeet."

"We're not likely to go to arms there," he pointed out.

"Precisely. The rules of the landsmeet dictate that there may be a one-on-one duel to determine the king if a decision isn't reached." Surana paused. "I've been fighting mostly on instinct now, and I think it's about time I learned a few actual swordplay moves."

"Ah, my heart. Now you make sense. For a moment there I wondered if you had had too much ale with that perpetually drunken Oghren."

She laughed. "Deal or no deal?"

Zevran smiled. "Deal."

So he taught her. He held her arms and guided her. He watched her imitate his actions. He held her waist to ensure proper body positioning. They laughed over her mistakes, and despite the severity of tomorrow's event, the atmosphere was light-hearted. At the end of it all, though, Surana sat on the bed quietly. "Can I sleep with you tonight?" she asked hesitantly.

Zevran froze. _It'd be the most wonderful thing in the world – _"I… no. Not today. I mean… not that I don't want to, but I…" He gave up. He couldn't quite find the words to express the horrid tightening of his chest and the twisting of his guts. "Please?"

Surana seemed to understand something of his emotions. Or perhaps he had inadvertently let his feelings play across his face. He didn't know. But the mage nodded. She rose, leaving the room – and stopped at the door. "Do you want to talk about it?"

The Crow smiled wanly. "No… not now. But… we'll talk. Soon."

She dipped her head, indicating she understood. Then the door closed with a soft click. Zevran sank onto the bed, inwardly berating himself. Maker's breath, what was he doing? He'd finally gotten back into Surana's good graces, but he couldn't bring himself to sleep with her. Andraste's flaming sword, he was kicking himself in the foot!

Zevran sighed. _It's just that the concept of love is so foreign to me… _Surana had been far more understanding this time, though. Perhaps she felt the same way, too?

_I must talk to her. I must. _

And with that resolve, the Crow slipped into a deep, peaceful slumber.

**A/N:** Two more chapters left to the end! I'd just like to ask if the story's been fun so far. It's been fun writing this, but I want to know how you as a reader feel, too. Are there any areas I can work on, in writing style, or plot advancement, or characterization or anything?


	10. In Love We Trust

**A/N:** Thanks for the reviews, guys! This is basically the height of Zevran & Surana's relationship... before it goes down, of course. I've always wanted to write this scene. It's a pity DA didn't expound on the romance much, but that's understandable. It's not a matchmaking game at heart after all.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Dragon Age: Origins. Bioware does. But don't we all wish we did?

_You are always gonna be my love,  
Even if I fall in love with someone once again.  
I'll remember how to love,  
You taught me how._  
-First Love, Utada Hikaru (translation)

**#10: In Love We Trust**

On hindsight, it had been a smart move on Surana's part to demand a last-minute swordplay lesson from him.

Zevran shifted uneasily as the nobles gathered around the two champions – Loghain, representing himself, and Surana, representing Alistair. Why the mage refused to let Alistair fight for himself baffled the Crow to no end. If he were Surana, he'd leave the poor fool to his own devices… but perhaps it truly wasn't in Ferelden's best interest to let Anora rule. He hadn't paid attention when Arl Eamon was discussing politics. Zevran always opted to stay out of such dirty things… he preferred the cleanliness of simple killing. _Politics only confounds and manipulates minds. _If one wanted true power, one would use the method of tyranny. Or so Zevran supposed.

Loghain made the first move, a diagonal swing which Surana blocked with ease. She made a feint to his left, and lashed out with her foot, landing a hit on his groin. Outraged, the man doubled back, flushing angrily with the pain. Zevran gave him credit for not losing it completely, curling up into a ball and sobbing his heart out on the ground. _He_ would've done that. Being hit in the loins was never wonderful.

Loghain regained himself rapidly, but his doubling back was enough for Surana to finish the incantations of her intended spell: fire rained from the heavens. The nobles hurriedly scattered out of the inferno's radius as Loghain struggled to navigate the burning fireballs. Taking a simple sidestep, Surana slipped a half of herself into the Fade.

_Sometimes, I just marvel at the art of magic… _how easy it would be to assassinate any target if he had such power at his disposal.

Against such overpowering magic, Loghain faltered for a moment. But almost immediately, his back straightened and his jaw set. He charged through the flames, ignoring the painful heat. Their swords clashed; more than once Zevran started as Surana narrowly avoided near-death. _This girl is far too naïve about swordplay to fight him, a veteran with years of experience… _she was on the losing end. Zevran glanced at the king-to-be; Alistair's brow was furrowed.

And suddenly, the mage was in front of Loghain, her sword pointed at his neck. Their eyes met.

"Game over," Surana said softly, determination glittering in her steely gaze. Loghain looked stunned.

Zevran's jaw dropped again. _Andraste's holy knickers! What did she do?_

Loghain dropped to one knee as Surana lowered her blade. "Enough," he panted, "I… have seen your determination. The look in your eyes… you're serious. I haven't seen any one with that look ever since Maric died. I thought you were a child playing at war, like Cailan, but… I see that I am wrong."

Surana sheathed her sword, but Alistair stepped forward. "Wait. Loghain needs to pay for his crimes."

The elf fixed him with an icy stare. To his credit, Alistair held that stare without flinching. The mage finally tore her gaze away, towards Loghain. She seemed to be reflecting. _Or considering possibilities? _Zevran realized he didn't really know what was on Surana's mind. He didn't know, he probably would never know, but he _wanted_ to know.

Eventually she nodded. "Very well."

"Hold your horses." Riordan strode into the room. Zevran wondered how the Grey Warden had managed to get in – the doors had been firmly locked behind them when they'd entered. "Loghain doesn't have to die. We could put him through the Joining…"

"Are you mad?" Alistair barked, "he –"

"That sounds perfect," Anora cut in swiftly, sauntering towards the Grey Wardens, "if he dies, you get your revenge, but if he lives, you get an experienced general. Isn't it a win-win scenario?"

The lady's haughty tone completely put Zevran off, but he wasn't the one making decisions here. Even so, he leaned forward and whispered in Surana's ear, "she's one cocky whore."

"I know," she muttered back, "believe me, I'd blast her into smithereens if that didn't mean sending the entire nation into chaos."

Zevran smirked, and retreated.

"No, and no," Alistair hissed, "Loghain _must _pay for what he's done! He killed our entire order at Ostagar! I won't stand for this. He can't have the honor of joining us!"

"And this is the man you will elect as king? A man who cannot forgive?" Anora shouted, "mercy is what sets a good king apart from a tyrannical one!"

"_He killed your husband!" _Alistair snarled, "doesn't that mean anything to you?"

Surana gave them both a look that would send any darkspawn to their knees. She turned to Riordan. "The answer is no. Loghain will pay for what he's done in Ostagar."

"No!" Anora screamed, "father!"

Zevran marveled at Surana's firmness. _That is one reason why I love her. _The other, of course, was her perfectly sculpted body, fine curves, awesome bed skills and _– many other aspects, naturally. _This train of thought brought him back to the previous night's events – which he refused to dwell on. Zevran shook his head, focusing on what Loghain was saying. He watched as Surana took a step forward, and with one clean swing, beheaded the man and elected Alistair as king.

He came to Surana's side as the ex-templar made his first speech to the cheers of the nobles. The mage shook her head. "Politics," she murmured, "this is the first and last time I'll get myself tangled up in them, I swear."

Zevran laughed. "Such promises often prove futile. You'll end up tangling yourself in them again, my dear."

She hit him playfully. "Take that back."

"Words, once spoken, cannot be retrieved."

Surana snorted, and gestured for him to follow as she left the hall. "While Alistair adjusts, we'll talk about battle plans for the days to come."

The Crow felt a sudden uneasiness, but he complied.

xXx

When the door opened, Zevran knew who it was even without turning. "Yes, my dear?" he asked, turning and drinking in the glorious scene of Surana standing in the doorway, her lovely figure accentuated by the body-hugging nightgown she wore, and the shadows playing about the room.

"You seem different now." Her brusqueness was tempered with affection. Zevran looked away, studying the flickering fire. He knew what she was referring to. He didn't need to ask. She'd been nice enough not to raise the issue in the day, though they'd had several intimate, quiet moments.

"I owe you an answer, don't I?" he muttered.

"No, you owe me an explanation." She stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. "I want to know what's changed."

Zevran was silent for several heartbeats. Finally, he sighed, and walked over to her so that they stood face to face. "Very well. I'm… confused," he confessed at last, holding up a hand when she opened her mouth. "Wait, let me explain. An assassin… must learn to forget about sentiment. It is dangerous. You take your pleasures where you can, when life is good. To expect anything more would be reckless. I… thought it was the same between us, something to enjoy, a pleasant diversion and little more. And yet…" He faltered then, looking away.

A tiny smile played around Surana's lips as she stepped into his comfort zone. They were so close that he could smell the faint scent of elfroots in her hair. The result of their churning out poultices for an army earlier in the afternoon. "You're in love with me."

"You speak that as if it were a fact. How would you know such a thing?" Zevran murmured, "I grew up amongst those who sold the illusion of love, and then I was trained to make my heart cold in favor of the kill. Everything I have been taught" – he turned away and buried his face in his hands – "says what I feel is _wrong_."

Surana didn't speak. He wished she would, to end this need for his talking. But she didn't. Almost as if she knew he needed to get it out badly, but just couldn't. "Yet I cannot help it," he continued quietly, "since you asked me into your tent, I have been nothing but confused. Do you… understand me at all?"

"I do." She came up behind him, draping her arms over his shoulders and clasping his hands. "I understand. I felt the same way."

"Felt?" His heart sank.

"Yes." He could hear the smile in her voice. "Remember that incident in the Deep Roads, the fight against the Broodmother?" Zevran nodded, lifting his head. "I… _died_ then."

"You… _died?_"

She nodded. "Yes. I woke in the Fade. I couldn't see anything, couldn't _feel_ anything. But I wanted everything to end. I wanted to die, to leave this world, to leave this burden to everyone else, to Alistair. I didn't want to go on anymore because I hurt, both physically… and emotionally."

Zevran was silent. His body tensed.

"But I heard this voice. It was gentle, it was warm, like a mother's… and it was telling me I could go on. I had a reason to live, even if I didn't know it yet. The voice said it would sustain me, help me live. It told me to _find_ that reason." She stepped in front of him then, still holding his hands and wearing a faint smile. "And then I heard your voice. That's when I realized my reason was here all along. My reason to live came on the day you tried to kill me.

My reason – is you."

The world seemed to stop moving then. He didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. But his heart lifted in a manner he'd never experienced before – it was a sensation of complete and total freedom. _Elation. _Zevran stared at her breathlessly, and then pulled her into a tight embrace. He'd never felt so warm and fuzzy in his life. _This is what it means to love. _This was what Rinna had died to teach him, he realized. The pieces of his life suddenly fell into place. Even Taliesen's death – both his friends had died to help him realize this. Indeed, everything seemed ordained by some higher power – the Maker, perhaps, though he still didn't quite believe in Him.

They pulled away after what felt like an eternity. Zevran took her gently by the shoulders. "I understand that now. I understand why I feel the way I do – because you are my reason to live, as well." Gently, he took her by the shoulders, making his resolution. "I am yours," he said firmly.

"And you are mine." Surana genuinely smiled then. A moment of awkward silence settled, in which both elves' gaze automatically swerved to the comfortable, king-sized bed.

Zevran snorted. "You are insatiable. But I like that. Shall we?"

"With pleasure." The mage gave him a smile caught between childlike innocence and elven cunning. He liked that.

A lot.

Sex had, in Zevran's opinion, never been - and never would be - so_ perfect._


	11. Beginning

**A/N: **This was supposed to be the end. But then inspiration came along and ruined it, so I've decided to split the chapter into two chapters instead. Haha. This is kind of like a bridge between 10 & the epilogue, actually. Meh. All hail inspiration!

**Disclaimer:** Dragon Age: Origins is owned by Bioware. I'm just borrowing their characters & playing around with them 'cos they're just that awesome.

_Is it a dream?  
All the ones I have loved, calling out my name  
The sun warms my face  
All the days of my life, I see them passing me by._  
-The Swan Song, Within Temptation

**#11: Beginning  
**

**Present-day Thedas**

Zevran disembarked, pulling a black hood over his head. He gazed around the city, inhaling the nostalgic scent of wet dogs and garbage. _Ah, Ferelden. _How many years had it been? _Ten. _ Yes, ten long years since he'd last stepped into the continent he'd once identified by the smell of dogs. Ten long years before he'd finally gathered the courage to revisit the place where his life had been marked and changed forever. Even then, this was an official visit.

Ferelden's king had requested it.

The head of the Antivan Crows didn't know why, but he'd accepted the invitation. Ten years had passed since the Blight was ended – at great price. Ten years since he'd held, and kissed, the beautiful elf in whose hands was the key to his heart. Ferelden might celebrate her as their hero, but to the ones who had witnessed her miraculous journey, she was much more than just an iconic figure. Alistair had hinted as much in his lengthy letter, their first correspondence since the coronation.

With a heavy sigh, Zevran entered Orzammar.

Alistair stood there, in his regal king's armor. The assassin dropped to one knee in respect. The king quickly helped him up. "Zevran… forget formalities. Maker's breath, you and I fought side by side in the Blight! How have you been?"

The Crow smiled wanly at him. "I have been well, Alistair. I trust you are, too?" His gaze wandered towards the door, where two girls were peeking. They were suddenly ushered away by a gorgeous lady. _She's not Surana. _His mood plummeted slightly, but he forced himself to listen to Alistair.

"Yes. I married a noble from Highever... but I didn't invite you here just to chat about our lives." He guided Zevran to the dining hall, where they each took their seats. "I called you here for a reason."

"Yes, I guessed as much." The Crow paused. "This isn't about… _her_, is it?"

Alistair stared pensively at his plate. "In a way, yes. And no."

Zevran raised an eyebrow.

The king put down his fork, having apparently lost his appetite. "You know… ten years ago, when we were still traveling, trying to beat the Blight… I found a beautiful flower in Lothering. It was a rose." Alistair's eyes misted slightly, and Zevran found himself studying the plain, white tablecloth intently. "It was… the sole, beautiful thing in all that chaos and darkness. I couldn't bear the thought of this lovely rose perishing when the Blight came to swallow Lothering, so I plucked it."

_Where is this heading? _He didn't want to bring up old memories. _Not now. _Though it had been a decade, the memories were still fresh in his mind, as if they had happened just yesterday.

"… Zevran, did you know? I'd wanted to give this rose to… her, in a way of expressing that I did love her… but then I saw you, with her, that day after the Landsmeet. And I realized I'd lost… because she loved you. She truly loved you."

Hot tears pricked his eyes.

"I threw the flower away that night." Alistair smiled quietly. "But I know she made the right choice. She chose her happiness, as she deserves."

Zevran looked at him. "And now?"

"I love her still. But her place is with you. And you lived for her."

"I am. Still."Alistair nodded, accepting the correction much more gracefully than he expected. The king rose, coming to Zevran's side. The Antivan Crow looked at him. Alistair was much more somber than he was before, and there was a strange lifelessness in his mannerisms, as if he was moving solely for the sake of moving. "You are acting strangely, Alistair. Have you changed so much in ten years?"

"I have." He hesitated. "I'm sorry… I just wanted to talk before my Calling."

"Your what?" And then he mentally berated himself. Surana had talked about it before. The Calling was a ritual every Grey Warden – those that didn't fall in battle, at least – undertook when they succumbed to the taint. She'd talked about it with a hint of sadness. Zevran wondered how it was like, to know your fate: women weren't killed after all. They were turned into something else."My good friend…"

Alistair laughed. "Yeah. My time has come, as Duncan would say. I didn't expect it so soon, but I wasn't that young when the Blight ended, you know."

"I am sorry." The words instinctively rolled off his tongue. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't need to. I just… well, I just want you to be there. You know. When… when I go for my Calling. You see, the dwarves have this… pompous, fancy celebration for every Grey Warden who ventures into the Deep Roads. I guess I just want a familiar face there. Everyone else is too far away."

"Ah, you want me to share in the filthy dwarven ale?"

"You could say that." Alistair paused. "Say, Zevran… remember the offer on tattoos you made me all those years ago? Still open?"

Zevran's eyes widened. "You are having me on, are you not, my good friend Alistair?"

"Aha! Bluff called! Just trying to lighten the mood," he explained awkwardly. The Crow snorted. "So I'll see you there?"

"You can count on it, my friend," he promised.

Alistair smiled, but Zevran saw the fear glittering quietly in his eyes.

xXx

The dwarves saw him off in a big fanfare of ale and cheers. They even held a Proving in his name. Zevran was there; he'd promised. He waved when Alistair paused at the opening to the Deep Roads: being a head taller than the dwarves helped when he wanted to stand out.

He was the only companion of their former party to come. He'd tried inviting the others. Wynne and Shale couldn't be reached, having left for the Tevinter Imperium. Leliana had disappeared off the face of Ferelden, and Orlais. Oghren was in Amaranthine, and at the time of Zevran's invitation, he was settling matters in the area with the new Commander of the Grey. Sten had returned to the Qunari – probably telling tales of the Blight now, he presumed – and Morrigan had vanished without a trace as well. Surana's dear mabari had also left; perhaps he'd found a new owner? Zevran guessed he wouldn't know.

The king of Ferelden looked all but confident as he stood at the entrance. Zevran couldn't help wondering how it felt to look into that deep, pitch black maw and walk in, knowing full well you wouldn't see the light ever again. Knowing you'd die there, your bones rotting in some forgotten corner, after the darkspawn had their fill with you. When he thought about that, Surana's death didn't seem like such a painful way to go.

It was all Zevran could do to smile wanly. Alistair replied in kind, though the colour was rapidly draining from his face. Then he drew a deep breath and stepped into the Deep Roads. Zevran didn't turn away until there was nothing left of the Grey Warden to be seen. Only then did he close his eyes and contemplate the loss of a dear friend. A friend who had been not-so-dear to him, but _dear_ _indeed_ to his beloved.

As the dwarves reverently filed away, Zevran made his way out of Orzammar. He blinked at the blindingly bright sunlight, stopping a moment to catch his bearings. And as he trekked across the Frostback mountains, back to Ferelden and then Antiva, he came to a decision.

This time, he wouldn't live in the past anymore.

He would live in the present.

And he would live, not only for Surana, but also for the Grey Warden who had loved her. He would live for Alistair, too.

Would Surana be happy about that? He could just imagine the gorgeous elf lying on the bed, propping her head up with one hand and watching him intently. Zevran would lie beside her, stare at the ceiling and ponder his options. Finally he would roll over, look into her brilliant green eyes and say, "I will live for him too. What do you think of that, my heart?"

And he could imagine her laughter, like the peal of a bell, lifting his spirits. "Why are you asking me? I have never asked you for your opinion on such issues, have I? So long as your heart remains mine, do as you will."

The vision faded, and Zevran was left staring at the sky. He shivered as the chill of the Frostback mountains crept up on him. Then he smiled and nodded at no one in particular.

This page of his life had ended.

A new chapter had begun.


	12. For All Eternity

**A/N:** Here we are. My first ever completed fanfic! I wanted to write this. I think they should have a happy ending in the end after all. Heh.

**Disclaimer:** I wish Dragon Age: Origins was mine. Seriously.

_When my world is falling apart,  
When there's no light to break up the dark,  
That's when I, I, I look at you.  
When the waves are flooding the shore,  
And I can't find my way home anymore,  
That's when I, I, I look at you._  
-When I Look at You, Miley Cyrus

**Epilogue: For All Eternity**

_He opened his eyes._

_The darkness was absolute, but surprisingly, Zevran felt no fear. In truth, he felt far more buoyant than he'd ever felt since seizing leadership of the Antivan Crows. As he slowly regained his bearings in this dream-world, the blackness gave way to light. Golden rays snaked through the darkness like tendrils and cracks in the ground. The shadows fled, chased by the warmth of sunlight. It grew brighter, and brighter, until Zevran couldn't keep his eyes open, even for a fraction of a second. _

_Then suddenly it dimmed._

_He was standing in a chantry. Which chantry exactly, he didn't know, but it was just like any other chantry in Ferelden. Vertically long. A faint, ethereal glow hung at the edge of every object, as though it was insubstantial. Yet when Zevran laid a hand on the massive, closed ebony doors behind him, they felt as solid as they could be. Shelves lined the walls, and rows of benches filled half of the spacious room. There was a pulpit, and behind the pulpit, the statue of Andraste. Zevran could just imagine the Revered Mother standing there and preaching to a group of hapless humans, quoting verses from the Canticle._

**"_Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls…"_**

_He couldn't recall the next line. Zevran walked forward, his leather boots barely making a sound on the wooden floor. He peeked into the Revered Mother's room. It was empty, and littered with books. He walked back to the doors and tried to open them. Locked. He bashed his fists against the door. Why was he locked here? Was this the Fade?_

_He went to the bench. Sat down. Closed his eyes and tried to think. What was the last thing he remembered? He remembered… being in his room. He remembered the door flying off its hinges as a group of men barged in. He remembered… sounds. The clashing of swords, the grunting of warriors. He remembered the roar of magic, the shattering of glass. _

_He remembered a flash of silver._

"_Am I dead?" He wondered aloud. Was the Maker pulling some kind of sick joke on him, for having slaughtered so many innocent souls in his life? Now that he probably wasn't alive, it seemed reasonable to assume that he had been imprisoned here as payment.  
_

_But hadn't he already paid the price?_

_Zevran rose, and stepped onto the pulpit. Once, he had had a dream of himself standing here as a priest, teaching the people about the Maker. When he'd woken up, he'd laughed about it. The day he could do that was the day when the darkspawn vanished from this world. It would never happen._

_The assassin fingered the page that the Canticle had been flipped to. "Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls," he read quietly, running his fingers over the finely written lines. Funny, he'd been thinking of this verse just a second ago. He sighed, feeling oddly at peace. For the last decade or so, after Alistair's Calling, Zevran had lived without mourning. He'd lived as the head of the Antivan Crows would. He hadn't let himself wallow in grief and self-pity anymore. He was living for too many souls to do that. And all along, a conspiracy was brewing among the new recruits. Zevran had known, but he had done nothing to stop it. Living irked him. He yearned to be by her side. Where was she?  
_

"_From these emerald waters doth life begin anew."_

_Zevran froze._

_The doors opened just a tiny crack, letting in a bit of sunlight. It didn't fully open, as though hesitant to reveal its secret. Slowly, Zevran let his hand fall from the Canticle as the door then creaked open. The light illuminated the silhouette of an elf, standing at the entrance. He couldn't see her face clearly, but he didn't need to see that to know who it was._

"_Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you." The voice was unmistakable. Zevran practically flew down the aisle, stopping in front of the figure. Surana's radiant smile lifted his spirits far higher than they had ever gone in his lifetime. "You're hopeless, Zevran. What's the next line?"_

"_Who cares?" Zevran beamed, "I am… I am speechless! What do I say? Is this the Fade?"_

"_It could be," the mage answered testily, "I've wandered this place for ages, though. Sometimes I see your dreams. I tried to reach you through them, but you don't ever answer me."_

"_I do not remember dreaming about you."_

"_Naturally not. You're blind that way." Surana smacked his arm lightly, the playful smile never leaving her lips. _

_He drew her into a long, warm hug. It was an embrace that held all the years of pining and yearning for her in it, and Surana responded in kind. He wanted to weep and laugh at the same time. "I missed you," he murmured, ruffling her hair, "so badly."_

"_I know." Her voice sounded muffled, as if she was holding back a sob. "I missed you too. I wished I hadn't asked you to live on."_

_He snorted. "But I am glad you did. It makes this much sweeter, my heart. It is nice to see that you retain your gorgeous curves."_

_It was Surana's turn to smirk. She wisely didn't answer his remark. "I love you."_

"_I love you too."_

_They pulled away. Several heartbeats passed as they simply stared lovingly at each other. Finally, Surana whispered, "In my arms lies Eternity."_

"_What?"_

"_The last line." Surana grinned. "It's the verse they recite during funerals, I think. Never attended many myself."_

_Zevran rolled his eyes. "What's out there?"_

"_The Fade."_

_The assassin peeked outside, and he smiled, taking her hand. "I suppose it would be prudent not to enjoy each other's… company… in a chantry, no?"_

_Surana laughed. "Is that all you ever think about?"_

"_Hardly, my heart. Now, I intend to make good on a comment I made to you a long time ago. Shall we storm the gates of the Black City, then, now that we are both spirits… so to speak?"_

_The mage snorted. "Don't we have eternity now? Let's do that later. I'm tired of storming places." She dragged him outside and pushed him to the ground. Zevran laughed. The chantry faded from existence. Despite the bleakness of the Fade, it felt like heaven to have the elf lying next to him. It __**was**__ heaven, to be able to touch her, to feel her, to love her all over again. _

_They did not speak of the past. They did not reminisce about the good old days, which had ended so painfully. They did not need words to tell each other how they felt. It was shown for all to see in their actions, in their kisses, in their caresses. And Zevran knew with certainty that their separation was over. Their new life had begun. They were together now._

_And they would be, for all eternity._


End file.
